Vice
by EmotionlessNightmare
Summary: Everyone has their vices. Ever since she's cleaned up hers, Eleanor's been the best version of herself. Almost. Set two and a half years following the events of S2E10.
1. Chapter 1

**A:N:** I **PROMISE** the chapters will not be as short as this- I have a method to my madness, I swear! I've had this completed for some time now, and I'm thrilled to share it with you. I think this is my favourite out of everything I've written for The Royals thus far. Thanks for sticking with me! -EM

* * *

In the twenty four months that has passed since the citizens of the United Kingdom voted to _keep_ the monarchy instead of abolish it, Eleanor's taught herself to do a number of things.

 _Just in case_.

She has taught herself how to drive, because god forbid she has to take public transportation anywhere. She'll take her Range Rover to the grave, if she has to.

While it might have been fine and dandy for Liam, _the King_ , it wasn't going to be for her. The tube had people; and there wasn't _anything_ Eleanor hated more than strange people.

She's figured out how to cook, and she isn't completely terrible at it. She can cook a hell of a late night drunk meal, but she leaves regular preparations to their chefs.

She feels less like an invalid this way.

However, she's become best at making it look like that she's moved on from the hellish drama that was her life for a good year following the deaths of Robert and her father. Nobody plays the part of a doting, quick-witted, patron-of-the-arts Princess better than she.

So while Liam cosies up to his new bride, Eleanor still goes to bed alone, and has been for several months now.

For the better part of the last two years, in fact.

She tries to not let it bother her. After all, she has a big role to play in this newfound Monarchy. Liam gave them the royal wedding they wanted. She had shown up and smiled and said how happy she was that her brother had found true love and happiness in their new reality.

 _His_ invitation had come back declined, and Eleanor pretended she didn't even know that he had been invited in the first place.

James still keeps in touch, though, and has an awful habit of dropping little tidbits of information, on purpose, to gauge her reaction.

Like the fact that he had moved back to the Southwestern United States, and was now working for a division of the CIA in Nevada.

Or how he had met someone new.

And that after eight months of dating, proposed to her.

 _And that she had said yes._

She put her foot down after that. Eleanor had never once raised her voice to James, but she did then, in a fury of hot, wet tears and told him to shut his mouth about _Jasper Frost_ if he knew what was good for him.

She suspects that Liam keeps tabs on him too, but for different reasons.

* * *

Eleanor knows how to Google, and she damn well has learned how to stalk people on Facebook with a fake account she has made up since she isn't supposed to have one of her own.

Specially, one Lindsay Rhodes.

A thin, light-haired brunette who likes jogging and Coldplay, and is too fair complexioned for the shade of red lipstick that she wears.

Who appears to like cooking, and those stupid DIY projects from Pinterest. A girl who wants to have a _homey_ home, and is excited about her upcoming nuptials.

A girl who likes to share way too many cat pictures, but is well informed on world events and holds her own in discussions or debates.

 _So what in the flying fuck does she have in common with Jasper Frost?_

Speaking of, while his new fiancé seems to not understand what Facebook privacy settings are, he damn well does. His own Facebook page doesn't even show his face in his profile photo, just his tall profile standing off in the distance in the Nevada desert, and is locked up tighter than Fort Knox.

He'd damn well know who _Mary Alexander_ is if she happened to _accidentally_ send him a friend request.

Eleanor is many things, but a home wrecker isn't one of them.

* * *

" _Just to see,_ " she says when she tells James she wants to go on vacation in California. Alone. " _I just need a break from all of this, James. I haven't stopped for two bloody years_."

"Don't do this, Eleanor," Liam later warns her when he catches wind of her plans. "You're going to get hurt. _Again_."

He knows damn well what the next state over from California is.

Which leads to her current location; sitting in an overcrowded Starbucks off of the Las Vegas Strip with the latest edition of _Vogue,_ a latte, not a stitch of makeup, and a wide brimmed hat that shadows her face.

James emailed her this morning and told her that _that_ location might hold a particular point of interest for her. Something about it having the kind of _tea_ she liked that not every location carried.

She's been there all morning, not knowing what she was waiting for, if anything.

"Is this chair taken?"

Eleanor's head snaps up, and her lips part in shock as the girl in front of her stares back, slightly alarmed.

"No," she says quickly. "Go ahead," she waves her hand, indicating that she could take it. She nods, her long loose, brown curls- _darker than her pictures suggest_ \- bounce as she takes the chair over to a group of other women chattering away about something she can't hear.

 _He_ definitely has a type.

She carefully closes her magazine and drains her latte. She contemplates getting another, but decides against it. She needs to get out of there. She's already treading in dangerous waters.

He'd descend on her like a demon straight from the fires of the ninth circle of Hell if he found out that she was there stalking his fiancé.

She sighs, and throws out her paper cup and half-read magazine and leaves the coffee shop without another word or backward glance.

She just wants to see, so she'll be back tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

On the fourth day, a Saturday, _he_ comes in with her. They're both dressed as if they've been out for their morning run. He looks good in his tight black jersey and loose black running pants.

Jasper gets a venti black tea, and adds a splash of milk himself, just the way he likes it- and takes a paper from a nearby table and settles into an armchair across the cafe. She quickly changes her seat so her back is to him as she fiddles nervously with her iPhone.

" _That girl in the black hat? She's been here every morning, in the same spot, for the past four days,_ " she overhears, and Eleanor immediately goes rigid. She needs to go. But if she turns around, he'll know it's her.

" _So?"_ He comments, clearly disinterested.

"She's English. I've heard her speak. She always looks so sad."

"That's unfortunate," Jasper replies, his tone taking on that _edge_ he gets when he's being bothered. There's millions of scrawny brunettes from England. There's no way it's _her_. The Princess is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. Not after all of this time. "Why don't you go join her if you're so interested in her story, Linds."

Eleanor's face briefly drops into her hands before she scrambles to her feet, gathering her rucksack and phone and beelines it to the bathroom. She locks herself inside the stall furthest away from the door as her body begins to shake with silent sobs.

 _Of course they have a bloody routine._

He'd never have that with her. He'd never be able to go out for a bloody Saturday morning run by himself if he were with _her_.

Hell, she can't remember the last time she went for a recreational jog, if ever.

She lines the toilet seat with paper and sits down on it as the door slowly opens. Someone goes into the stall next to her and does their business as if she's not there.

Eleanor knows she can't stay in the toilet all day. She can't stay in there longer than ten minutes before it starts to look suspicious. Or embarrassing.

Her phone vibrates in her bag and she draws it out and sees James' name flashing on the screen.

 _Just got an interesting call,_ he texts. _You wouldn't happen to be locked in a Starbucks toilet in Las Vegas, Princess?_

 _No, why? Have you finally gone mad? I'm in Malibu,_ she replies, and sends him a selfie she took six days ago on a beach.

He doesn't reply. She doesn't know that he screencaps her response and sends it to the man standing outside the bathroom door.

She waits another ten minutes, and fishes out her sunglasses out of her backpack and jams them on her face as she leaves the loo.

They're gone.

She knows she can't come back.

* * *

It takes James three days to give her a new location to haunt.

A sandwich shop near some government offices. Famous for their smoked meat on rye.

 _His_ favourite.

Eleanor hates bread, so she gets a cobb salad instead and slides into the booth the furthest away from the counter, but leaves enough room for her to see who is coming and going as she reads the BBC headlines on her phone.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice is stern, disembodied, and perfect as her fork slips from her fingers and clatters on top of the table.

"Reading," she replies, and doesn't look up at him. She can't. Not yet. She picks her fork back up and shovels a forkful of her salad into her mouth.

"You can't be here. Not now. _Go home, Le- Eleanor_. Whatever sick game you're playing, it ends _now_." He drops his finger on the table in front of her for emphasis. She still won't look at him. Instead, she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth and selects a news story about the public approval rating of the new Prime Minister.

Eleanor doesn't answer him and he lets out an exasperated sigh, and drops down into the seat across from her, and runs his face tiredly with his hands.

She continues to eat and read. When she is done, she drops her fork into the bowl with a loud clatter and pushes it away, and finally raises her eyes to his.

They're red rimmed and bloodshot, like he hasn't slept in days.

They look like hers on a good day.

She briefly stares at Jasper Frost like he's a glass of cold water on a hot day. She catches herself, and immediately stonewalls him.

"Why are you here?" He asks carefully.

Eleanor opens and closes her mouth several times, and looks away. "I-..." She trails off.

 _Wanted to see you._

He waits for her.

"Does she know about me?"

"No."

Her brows knit together and her mouth forms into a frown.

"Okay." She says finally, and slowly starts packing her things into her backpack.

"That's it? That's all you got?" He says suddenly, his voice borderline desperate. "Jesus Christ, Eleanor, it's been two and a half goddamn years. Did you honestly expect me to sit around and hope that you'd change your goddamn mind?!"

" _Oh my god_."

They both look up then, to see Lindsay staring at them, her jaw slack. A smoked meat on rye is in her hands as she takes in the scene in front of her.

Clearly, she had hoped to catch him before he showed up to get his own lunch.

"Sorry," Eleanor offers lamely, and moves to slide out of the booth. Jasper's arm darts across the table and grabs her forearm, holding her in place. "Let me go," she pleads.

"No. You're _not_ doing this, Eleanor."

"I'm going home," she snaps, trying to wrench her arm free, but he's not loosening the grip he's got on her arm. "I made a mistake- _Jasper_ \- you're going to draw attention-"

"You two know each other? Have _you_ been stalking me or something, you fucking psycho?!" Lindsay finds her voice and rounds on Eleanor, clearly not realising _who,_ or _what_ the hell she is. All she knows is that she's got some sort of connection to her fiancé, and judging by his reaction to her, and what little she's overheard, she knows it isn't some sort of long lost friendship.

Eleanor recoils, clearly taken aback. No one has ever spoken to her like that. _Ever_.

She wonders if she even knows that her fiancé spent three years in the United Kingdom.

People are starting to stare, and she's getting nervous. It's only a matter of time.

He notices.

"Where is your security detail?" He demands suddenly, his eyes sweeping the room as if he expects someone to pop out of nowhere and extract her from the situation.

"I didn't bring one." She fires at him.

"You're _not_ my problem anymore," he says more to himself than anything through gritted teeth. Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to control his erratic breathing.

" _Who is she, Jasper_?" Lindsay demands, her eyes unwavering from her own.

" _Princess_ Eleanor Henstridge," he says, waving his hand at her sarcastically as he rises to his feet. "Sit your goddamn scrawny ass back in that booth or so help me God, Eleanor. I'm calling someone _right now_ to bring you a goddamn car. _You_ _will_ go straight to McCarran and _you will_ get back on the fucking jet you flew in on, do you understand me?"

" _Princess_?" Lindsay echoes, and the sudden realization of _why_ Eleanor has a familiar face sets in. "What in the hell? How do you even know her, Jasper? This doesn't make sense! What are you not telling me?!"

Eleanor suddenly _\- and obediently_ \- sits back down and drops her face into her hands. She's drained, and she can't handle anymore, because Lindsay doesn't know.

She doesn't fucking know his burdens. About what he's done _to_ her. What he's done _for_ her, and her family.

About who she was to him. Who he was to her.

She knows nothing.

 _Just lies_.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, two CIA agents enter the restaurant, and escort her out. They inform her that her belongings were collected from her hotel, and her jet is on standby awaiting departure, just like she requested.

Once she's on board, she locks herself in the bedroom at the back of the plane for the duration of the flight. She curls up on the bed as her small, slight body shakes with two years worth of bottled up emotions.

She's been working on herself this whole time to be a better person for him, instead of the selfish, immature bitch that she was.

 _If she couldn't love herself, how could he have loved her?_

She was so goddamn stupid to even think that there might even be a slight chance.

She wasn't the same person.

He wasn't the same person.

So of course, there wasn't a chance. He'd moved on from her.

She hadn't moved on from him.

* * *

Liam picks her up at the airport, and he can see right away on her face that she did _exactly_ what she said she wasn't going to do.

He doesn't say a word the whole ride back to the palace.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Holy crap! I did not expect that kind of response to the last chapter at all- I literally said "oh, shit!" when I logged in and saw the stats this morning. I'm glad you're all loving it as much as I am. Thank you all so much for your kind reviews and encouragements- they mean a lot! I'm kind of stuck with Fallout right now. I still have another 1(possibly 2) chapters I can put out before you're all up to where I am, but I don't want to just push them out for the sake of pushing them out. I know how I want to wrap it up, but I'm having trouble getting there. If you have any ideas- by all means send them my way. I'm sure something will come to me eventually!

In the meantime, here's the next installation. The sea is never calm!

* * *

Eleanor doesn't leave her room for three days. She cuts three lines of cocaine on a hand mirror, but she can't bring herself to snort it. It's been too long. She's come too far. She dumps it in the toilet and sends it down to the sewers, and drinks two bottles of vodka instead.

There's an dark, grainy mobile phone photo she printed off ages ago, and she keeps it in the bottom drawer of her vanity. The two figures in it are lying in her bed, and the man is looking at the pretty brunette with smug adoration. The young woman smiles a rare, genuine smile at the camera as she lies on her back in the crook of his arm as his fingers play with the ends of her hair. She took it the night before her mother's masquerade, after a particularly _good_ round of sex. She had _finally_ gotten him to smoke a joint with her. He wouldn't do a line of blow, but he'd finally conceded to that, and then later admitted it that the sex that had followed had _definitely_ been worth it.

They were six months in, and she had finally began to accept him into her life as something more than just her blackmailing bodyguard.

A boyfriend, of sorts. Not that Jasper ever doted on her. He was far more content just _doing_ her. And so was she.  
Not that she'd ever admit that out loud.

Eleanor rips it in half, and throws it in her fireplace and watches their two happy expressions go up in flames.

* * *

On the fourth day, her mother springs into action.

"It's been nearly three years, Eleanor," Helena breezes as she pulls the blankets off of her daughter and throws open the drapes. "I've lived with what you're feeling now for the past _thirty-four,_ and counting. It doesn't get easier, but you can damn well _try and pretend that it will_."

And she does. She gets Rachel to fill her calendar up again and she visits with the elderly, she opens art galleries, and plays with children at their schools and reads them stories.

Eleanor always smiles in pictures, but it never quite reaches her eyes.

* * *

For as long as she can remember, she's sworn up and down that she would never be like her mother.

But now, she knows that her mother had it a hell of a lot better than she does now.

At least her mother had married the King, and was able to keep her lover on the side, in secret.

Eleanor has no husband, and no salacious side-lover.

She hasn't touched her computer since she arrived back. She doesn't want to push herself into a deeper depression because she knows she'll ultimately end up back with her old vices.

But not the one she wants.

* * *

The months go by and Christmas draws nearer.

She wonders when their wedding is.

It could have very well already taken place for all she knows.

Nobody dares to mention his name in her presence, but she knows they talk.

On Christmas Eve, Willow announces she's pregnant.

She's going to be an aunt.

Liam is going to be a father.

She's no longer going to be the spare, and Eleanor finally realises that the world is moving on, with or without her.

She goes to bed early.

* * *

Eleanor lays in her bed, asleep, when her door creaks open. She flinches awake and sits up as the light from the corridor streams in, and _he's_ standing there, looking haggard in her doorway wearing a pair of rumpled jeans, black thermal shirt, and grey jacket.

"What is this? A fucked up version of _A Christmas Carol?"_

"You wish," he mutters, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, and secures the lock.

The tungsten ring on his left hand shines in the moonlight, and it doesn't go unnoticed by her.

Eleanor curls back into her bed and shuts her eyes. _This isn't real. It's another fucking nightmare._

The sounds of rustling fabric fills the air, signalling that he's removing his clothing. She doesn't move.

He drops his trousers to the floor with a light _thud_.

Jasper slips into her bed beside her and his cool hands immediately seek her out, desperate to pull her to him.

Her mouth is on his in a flash. Her fingers rake through his disheveled light brown hair, pulling his mouth impossibly closer to her own.

 _He's here. With her._

Jasper's already naked, and gloriously hard against her thigh as he blindly paws at her silky sleep shorts, effortlessly ripping them away from her body.

 _There's no time._

He pushes her onto her back, and then he's inside her with little preparation. It _really_ fucking hurts because it's been so long, and because he's so big.

It doesn't take long for them to find their old tempo. Her fingers lace with his amongst the sheets over her head. His hips keep her pinned against the mattress as he continuously pounds into her, his breath coming out in hot, quick pants against her neck.

She wants to mark him; to send a message. But she knows that she can't.

She comes.

He comes.

He holds her in his arms until she falls back asleep.

Jasper's gone by daybreak, and he's left without saying goodbye.

 _Again_.

If it weren't for the throbbing, dull ache between her thighs, and the crumpled receipt for room service for a suite at _The Blakemore on Hyde Park_ on her floor by the sofa, she would have thought it nothing but an intensely erotic nightmare. It wouldn't have been the first time.

She trembles when she realises that he's left just as quickly as he's came.

Jasper's been less than forty-five minutes away from her this whole time, and hasn't said a damn word to her. She has no idea how long he's been in London, or how long he's staying.

 _But why would he? It's not like he's yours._ Her conscious is unusually strong this morning.

He must have come through the tunnels, because security would have called and given her a heads up that she had a visitor.

Eleanor Google's his suite number in the early hours of Christmas morning on her iPhone.

It's the Honeymoon Suite.

* * *

Eleanor creeps into her mother's bedroom shortly after eight in the morning, sobbing. Her eyes are bloodshot, and she's haphazardly dressed herself in her previously discarded shorts, tank top, and robe.

The Dowager Queen doesn't ask why her only daughter is in tears on Christmas morning.

Helena's already known for weeks, and has been dreading this moment ever since James Hill passed on the news that a certain ex-bodyguard had married some no-name Las Vegas journalist.

She knows that _Frosts_ ' are in London for the holidays, because _Team Henstridge_ has had to work extra hard to keep Eleanor away from any social events in central London as a precaution.

There was sound reasoning behind why they decided to light the Christmas Tree in Oxford instead of London this year. It wasn't worth the risk, and both she and Liam knew it. One look at _them_ , and they knew all the progress that Eleanor's made over the past two and a half years would be shot to hell.

Both mother and son know that she's the most fragile out of all of them.

Instead, she sits up and allows her twenty-four year old daughter climb into her bed and sob quietly into her chest. She sounds so broken.

Eleanor reeks of sex.

It's a vaguely familiar scent that she's smelled in her daughter's room, years before.

There's only one person whom it could belong to. There's only one person who could have instigated a reaction like this from Eleanor.

Helena kisses the top of her daughter's head, strokes her hair, and and holds her a little tighter because of it.

She stays silent, because there's nothing to say. She knows that unless Jasper Frost leaves his wife for her daughter, Eleanor's going to continue to silently battle demons caused by him. She's tried to move on. She's dated Dukes and Lords, but nothing ever pans out. Eleanor isn't who she used to be. She's stronger, and she's more confident in herself. She's cleaned up her act. The public loves her. Eleanor can charm a whole room to putty with a single smile. But Helena knows it's all an act, because she's done it too.

She never wanted her little girl to have her life. Not by a long shot.

Eleanor deserves to be loved out of all of them the most.

But not in this way.

* * *

Eleanor sits in the background of Liam's Christmas Day address next to her mother. Her hair is straightened, her makeup is done, and she's wearing a pretty black dress.

She looks like the morning's events never occurred, and Liam's completely oblivious to the fact that just three short hours ago, she was crying in her mother's bed because of Jasper Frost. _Again_.

Eleanor's in mourning for a number of things, but nobody needs to know.

She bitterly hopes that _they're_ watching. The King's Christmas Day address is broadcasted live on every major network in the United Kingdom.

Eleanor considers taking his name off of the Palace's access list, but decides against it because she's a glutton for punishment.

It doesn't matter anyway, because he doesn't come back.

* * *

A while later, Liam announces that Willow is pregnant, and the country rejoices at the prospect of a royal baby, and a new era.

Eleanor steps back and allows Willow to take over some of her charities that are more family focused.

The people want to see their new Queen.

Princess Eleanor isn't as relevant as she used to be.

When she realises this, she breathes a sigh of relief.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Again, THANK YOU for all of your wonderful reviews for the last chapter. This one is a bit short. I have it planned out in my head how I want these chapters to be laid out, so just bear with me here. I promise it'll be worth your while, or maybe not. It's up to you- I'm easy to please ;).

A few questions came up in your reviews and I just wanted to address those who I can't PM back:

\- Someone had asked if Jasper and Lindsay had vacationed in London to hurt Eleanor- the answer is no. Lindsay wants to know all of Jasper, including the bad parts. I would like to think that London holds a special spot in his heart, and she wants to see it. He didn't intend on even seeing Eleanor, or any member of her family while he was there because he has little to no contact with them anymore- especially after what happened in Las Vegas. But things happen, people fight, and circumstances change.

\- Eleanor will not end up pregnant from that tryst.

* * *

Four months later, she takes a trip to New York City. Alone.

Eleanor's caught wind of a conference that he's going to be working at. For security reasons, of course.

She has no other way to contact him, and they need to talk, whether he wants to or not. So, it's her turn to force his hand.

Eleanor books a suite at _The Four Seasons,_ and makes a point to tell James every last detail of where she is, including her suite number, the access code to the lift, and the false name she's checked in under so that if need be, _someone_ could get a keycard to her room.

James Hill isn't daft, and he gets the hint and assures her that her message was received, and he will ensure that _someone_ associated with Royal Security will check on her while she's overseas.

And then she waits.

And waits.

* * *

Jasper shows up on the third night.

"I missed you," Eleanor admits as he approaches her. She's lying in the middle of the king size bed, looking at something from Liam on her phone, wearing just her robe.

"Not as much as I missed you, Princess," he replies easily.

He reaches forward, boldly, and slowly undoes the silk sash on her robe as if he were unwrapping the most delicate gift.

She likes how he can make her title sound like an endearment.

There's no apology offered for what happened at Christmas, and neither want to discuss it. Not yet.

His eyes scan over her slim figure- _memorising her_ \- as she confidently lounges back on her elbows. Her flesh is still tinged pink and is warm from the hot bath she just took.

"You don't deserve _this_ , Len." He sighs as he moves to undo the button on his jeans. "You deserve someone who can love you _all_ of the time."

Jasper's trying to give her an out, but she doesn't want it. Whatever is starting _now-_ it's not going to stop. She doesn't want it to. He doesn't want it to.

He's deep into something else- but that's his own problem. His own mistake. His marriage doesn't exist when he's with her.

 _We've all got shit we've got to deal with._

There's no one else. There never will be.

"Jasper," she sighs, parting her legs as he climbs on top of her, and settles himself between them, and slowly presses his lips to her neck. " _You_ already do."

She can feel him smile against the pulse point on her throat, and his gentle assault on her skin stops for a moment, and his hands still on her bare hips; thumbs stroking her hipbones. "You're right. _I do._ "

Eleanor isn't strong enough to ask him to leave his wife for her.

Jasper has a whole other life outside of this hotel that she knows nothing about, and he doesn't come forward with information about it because she doesn't ask.

It's better this way.

* * *

Instead, he wraps her up in her silk robe, and orders her room service. She catches him on what's been going on in the palace and her life, as if he doesn't already know. Most importantly, how she adores James' eleven year old daughter, Sarah, and that she helps her with her homework on Wednesdays, and then she takes her horseback riding.

It's her favourite day of the week. She doesn't tell anyone that but him.

Sarah actually likes _her_ , and she's just tickled that the Princess wants to hang out. Sarah thinks that Eleanor is hilarious. She's bookish and doesn't have many friends at her private school, so she doesn't tell anyone that her best friend is the twenty-four year old emotionally detached and unavailable Princess.

Eleanor hasn't told anyone that _her_ best friend is a bright, overly optimistic eleven year old girl who sees the world as a half-full glass instead of an empty bottle.

Jasper doesn't voice it, but he likes the way her eyes light up when she talks about James Hill's young daughter. Her tone is brighter, and she's animated in a way he's never seen her be before. To him, Eleanor's never been more beautiful.

* * *

He spends the next four nights with her, and it's the same routine. Eat. Discuss everything _but_ his home life. He tells her about his job, and how he likes it. It's the kind of stability that he's never dreamed of having before, especially growing up with his family being the way they were. He has a dog at home that he hates, a small thing- _a_ _purse dog,_ as he calls it _-_ but he tolerates it for the sake of _her_. He tells her about Nevada, and how he's taken up hiking because it gets him away from the city lights and the desert is the only thing that brings him the sort of calm that he craves. The only other time he gets it is when he's with her.

A few rounds of sex, and then they sleep soundlessly, wrapped up in each other. He doesn't want to let her go, and she doesn't want him to.

The cool metal of his wedding band on her bare skin makes her uncomfortable, but she doesn't ask him to take it off while he's with her.

Eleanor will atone for her sins one day.

Jasper tells her that he has to go back to Las Vegas the next morning, and that he will miss her. He leaves her a mobile number that he instructs her to text him on when she arrives back in the United Kingdom. He tells her that she can call him on it sometimes because it's his work number, and Lindsay is less likely to check his phone.

He admits that after what happened when she came to Vegas, he had caught Lindsay going through his personal iPhone because she was convinced that he was still seeing her. There was nothing to be found at that point because nothing was going on. He keeps all correspondence with James Hill on his Blackberry for work because it's encrypted, and Lindsay knows she can't touch it because of his security clearance.

Eleanor feels guilty, briefly. It doesn't last long; it never does.

They don't know when they'll see each other next.

She stays in New York for two more days, and doesn't leave her room. just like she promised both him and James. She's been to New York enough. There's nothing outside that she wants to see, and there's nothing there that she doesn't already have at home.

London's not as dirty. The paps aren't as aggressive.

He's left one of his t-shirts behind, and she sleeps in it every night until his scent disappears.

* * *

She texts him when she lands in London, but Jasper doesn't reply.

A few months later, Liam and Willow find out that they're having a boy, and they're going to name him Simon.

Eleanor cries for a multitude of reasons.

She tries to call, but the it goes to straight to voicemail and she doesn't leave a message because it's his work mobile.

Jasper calls back when she's asleep, and apologises for waking her up and asks what's wrong.

She tells him Liam's news, and he's silent for several minutes on the other end. Eleanor doesn't ask if he's still there, because she can hear him breathing.

"Eleanor?" he says finally, his tone sounds just as broken as she feels, because _he knows_.

"Yes?" she whispers into the mouthpiece, gripping her iPhone tightly in both hands as she lies in the fetal position in the middle of her bed.

"It'll be okay, Len. I promise. I-"

She can hear a door opening in the background, the sound of a barking dog, and then line goes dead.

She knows that it's not safe to call back.

He texts her, an hour later, apologising for what happened, and tells her that he loves her.

She's fallen into an uneasy slumber, so she doesn't see it until morning.

It doesn't matter anyway because she doesn't reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Are we all sat down? Buckled in? Good? Let's go.

Just a heads up that I'm going on vacation from tomorrow until Sunday night- not abandoning, just travelling!

* * *

Jasper's coming to Paris to assist with setting up security for an upcoming global climate summit, and asks her to meet him there.

It's extremely close to Willow's due date, and it's a risky move because there's going to be a ton of media in the city. Eleanor doesn't give two shits about climate change because she doesn't understand, and she doesn't want to. Science was never her thing and she likes having a mild winter.

Regardless, she'll be locked up in a hotel, under a false name, for a whole two weeks.

But at least she'll be with _him_.

Eleanor's mood has been considerably brighter since she found out that he's coming to Europe, and only her mother can figure out _why_.

Helena doesn't judge her daughter. She has no right to. She just tells her to be careful and not be seen, and to have a good time.

They've reached a turning point in their relationship.

Helena is the only one that truly understands the continuous ache she feels in her heart.

* * *

Eleanor's on her balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the Seine smoking a cigarette and nursing a glass of red wine when the door to the suite bangs open. She's on her feet in a flash, hastily stubbing out her smoke in the ashtray and pulling open the patio door.

Jasper stands before her in a pair of ripped jeans, and a tight white t-shirt, and black sweater. His hair is freshly cut and he's got a few days worth of stubble on his face.

Just the ways she likes him.

His lips curve into a familiar, handsome panty-dropping smile as he takes in her appearance; she's dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans a silky black tank.

Nothing about her screams royalty. Not that he'd care, anyway.

"Hey baby," he greets her as she throws her arms around his neck, and his hands come to rest on her slim waist underneath her top. " _I missed you so much_." He nuzzles his nose in her hair, and inhales deeply and pulls her closer to him. She can already feel his erection growing in his pants against her thigh.

Eleanor likes that _she's_ the one that still has this control- _this_ _effect_ \- on him.

"I'm glad you asked me to come," Eleanor whispers, holding his face in her hands and peppers his neck with hot, wet kisses. She wants him so much it hurts.

" _Mm_ , not yet," he says saucily in her ear as his hands slide down her back and he brazenly cups her ass, and easily lifts her off of the floor and into his arms. He carries her over to the large bed in the centre of the room, and sets her down. "God, Len… I missed _you_. You have no idea."

" _I have an idea_ ," she answers as he pushes her top up, and presses his lips to her taut stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. His fingers hook into the belt loops on her jeans, his intensions painstakingly obvious. He's not in the mood to wait. Her hands knot into his hair, and her fingers gently massage his scalp. " _Come_ _home._ With me."

Jasper stills against her. It's the first time she's asked him to stay with her since this whole thing began. He slowly pulls back, his expression is tortured by what she's asking him to do, and hers falters when she realises that he isn't going to say yes.

He rolls off of her and onto his back and puts his face in his hands and inhales a deep, unsteady breath.

" _I can't_ ," he says finally, his voice is just as tortured as the expression on his face. "She's my _wife_ , Eleanor. I can't-"

"Right," she gripes, and scrambles off the bed. She needs to get away.

Eleanor's heard the exact same words from Beck, too. Since when did she develop an affliction for married men, anyway?

"I'm just your side piece; your dirty little secret. That's all, right? You keep so many fucking secrets, Jasper!" She hollers, her tone scathing, and borderline hysteric. "Do you have a good laugh with your mates about it back home? About how you're fucking _the_ _Princess_ on _-_ "

"You _know_ that's not how it is Len," he pleads, reaching for her arm. "You _know_ it." She moves out his reach, because she knows the second he touches her, all will be forgiven.

"How the fuck is it then, Jasper? Why won't you leave her? _What does she have that I don't?!"_

"Lindsay was _there_. I married her because she's stable. I've _never_ had stable, especially with _you_." He answers, his tone just as harsh; purposefully striking her _exactly_ where he knows it's going to hurt her the most. " _She doesn't tell me to get out of her fucking life when I try to make up for my mistakes_. Does _that_ sound familiar to you? Or do I need to refresh your goddamn memory, _Princess_ Eleanor? Is it just eating you up inside that you're not getting your way, for once in your goddamn shit excuse of a life, _Your Highness_?"

 _Everything_ comes crashing down around her and she sits on the edge of the nearby chaise, and hides her face in the palm of her hand. Her shoulders shake as she gulps in mouthfuls of air, in a vain attempt to keep herself from losing it at him.

Because if Jasper wants to fight her with words, Eleanor's been ready for battle for a long time.

This is a blowout that's been three years in the making.

Neither will emerge victorious.

"You don't know a fucking thing about me, Jasper. Not one fucking thing. You don't fucking know what it's like to be paraded around in front of suitors by your family because you're nearing your mid-twenties, and haven't had a legitimate love interest in _years_. Knowing that the one person you _want_ is halfway across the bloody planet, _married_ , and _fucking_ someone else," she says quietly, her voice deathly calm, even for her. She refuses to look at him.

For the first time since this whole thing's started, she's having doubts. Eleanor knows that she can't carry on with him- _like this_ \- forever. Something is going to have to give eventually or they're going to rip each other to shreds. Emotionally. "I know that I've messed up and I'm not _normal_ \- but don't you fucking dare throw my titles in my face like they're something I care about- _that I need_ \- _because you know more than anyone else on this fucking planet that I hate them the most. More than I hate HER."_

* * *

It's all her fault that they're in this mess. _She's_ the one that kicked him out of the palace, and forced him back to Vegas.

It didn't occur to her until _much_ later that he was just as emotionally fucked up as she was.

Someone had to be there and pick up the pieces of the hurt and pain that she had caused him.

And that was Lindsay Rhodes. So it's only right she gets to be Lindsay _Frost_.

Eleanor had completely tossed his feelings out the window as if they hadn't existed.

As if they weren't genuine.

As if they didn't matter.

 _As if they weren't as important as hers._

When she looked at him, all she saw was everything wrong that he had done to her. It did hurt her to see him.

She doesn't see him like that anymore. She doesn't feel that _hurt_ anymore.

Of course he wouldn't have waited for her.

Jasper thought he was dead to her.

She was selfish to think otherwise. All the others waited- why would he be any different?

Jasper doesn't approach her, but he doesn't go away, either.

Their reunion is ruined.

Once again, it's her fault.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Lucky for you all, my plans have been delayed a day thanks to some shit weather. There's a reason why this chapter is as short as it is, and naturally I won't be sharing that reason with you just yet. Side note, I am literally salivating to give you chapter 7. It's long. It's a doozy. And I hope you love it as much as I do.

See you Loyals in 3 days fam!

* * *

Liam calls in the middle of the night, six days later, and says that she needs to come home because Willow's gone into labour, and he needs her and he's freaking out.

Eleanor's out of bed in an instant, pulling on bits of clothing in the darkness. Some are hers. Some are his. He's pulling on clothes too, telling her not to freak out.

Jasper gets on the jet with her in the dead of the night without hesitation, and she's too frazzled to object because she needs him to keep her sane for the hour-long flight.

They're met back in London by James Hill in an unmarked palace car. He doesn't hide his shock when he sees who is guiding the Princess off of her plane.

James speeds the whole way to the hospital, and Jasper keeps his hand on her thigh to to keep her calm. She texts Liam and tells him that she's landed, and that she's on her way. She doesn't tell him who's come back with her.

They pull their hoods over their heads as James screeches to a halt outside the hospital, where a crowd has gathered behind barricades across the street because someone's leaked to the press that the Queen has gone into labour.

James is out of the car in a blink of an eye and pulling open the door for her. Jasper gets out first, and she scrambles out after him. The crowd cheers when they realise it's the Princess.

He puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his body, toward the hospital doors to get her out of the rain.

Two more palace security guards are flanking the doors when they arrive at the top of the staircase. They step aside, and allow them to enter.

James told her where she needs to go in the car, and she takes the stairs instead of the lift because she forgets that she's not athletic and thinks it'll be faster. It's not.

She's breathless by the time she reaches the fifth floor, and barrels into the maternity ward, her black hair in a wild disarray as she runs off down the long corridor, Jasper at her heels.

Liam's pacing at the very end, and he looks up at the sounds of her sneakers squeaking on the floor. His jaw drops slightly when he sees who's with her, but quickly recovers as she pulls him into her arms and starts asking questions a mile a minute.

" _She's fine_ , Lenny," he says earnestly, placing his hands on her shoulders. "They just asked me to step out for a minute so they can examine her. Mum's going to come when the baby arrives. _Thank fuck_."

"Are _you_ okay?" she demands, ignoring his statement. Eleanor's concern is rare and unique; reserved only for the man she shared a womb with for nine months twenty-four years ago.

"I'm fine," he asserts, and then looks over her shoulder. " _This,_ however, is an unexpected surprise."

Eleanor whirls around as she finally registers that Jasper is with her. In _London_. In _public_.

"You can't be here," she blurts out, rounding on him. " _What if someone sees?!_ "

"I'm not leaving you,"Jasper tells her. "You're frantic. Hey, Liam. Congratulations." He catches the young king's eyes lingering on his left hand. He jams his hands in his sweater pocket, clearly self-conscious.

"Thanks," he says carefully. " _Please_ tell me you didn't elope with my sister?"

"God, no," Eleanor snorts, but then her face quickly falls. The doctor comes out of the room, and tells them that they can go in. Eleanor pushes in first and is at her sister in law's side in an instant. "Geez, Willow, _you've_ definitely seen better days," she comments brazenly.

"You're right, I have," she agrees, her expression pained. "At least I've got all these great drugs, Len. I won't feel a thing!"

Eleanor pushes her sweaty fringe off of her forehead, and smiles. "Well aren't you lucky? I'll go sit in the hall, yeah? You can torture Liam for a bit."

"It's my favourite thing to do," she laughs tiredly. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I know you were in _Paris_."

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" she bristles, a hint of a smile on her lips as she lets go of her hand and steps out into the corridor.

Jasper is sitting on the floor against the opposite wall, typing away furiously on his Blackberry.

"How is she?" he doesn't look up.

"She's fine, just waiting for the drugs to kick in," Eleanor slides down the wall and pulls her knees up to her chest, and rests her head on his shoulder.

Jasper sighs, and then pockets his phone. He pulls her legs across his own and puts his arms around her shoulders, and rests his chin on the top of her head, pressing the occasional kiss into her hair.

Regardless of what happened during their first night in France, she knew that they'd make up.

They always do.

Things are still tense, but at least he stayed. It's not like he had a choice, anyway. He worked through the day.

Eleanor would have left if he had asked her to. But he didn't.

They're alone in the guarded hallway.

She would rather have him there, sitting on a cold concrete floor with her, waiting for her sister-in-law to spit out the future King of England, then nowhere at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Two and a half months later, Eleanor finds out that she's pregnant, and she's in a panic.

While she loves her brand new nephew dearly, she doesn't see herself as the motherly type. She _knows_ that she doesn't have a maternal bone in her body.

Eleanor sees herself more as a high-functioning alcoholic.

Jasper, on the other hand, has a stick so far up his ass she's sure that he'd give himself an aneurysm just _thinking_ about someone disobeying direct orders. She doesn't doubt for a second that he cares for her, but this- _this_ \- is different. Besides the fact, he's just as emotionally detached and fucked up as she is, if not more. She couldn't have picked a better man to have a baby with.

For a fleeting moment, she wishes it were Beck.

Beck was _safe_.

Beck was simple.

 _Beck would be happy._

She has been very careful _not_ to let her mind cross _that_ bridge in particular because she knows that when it does, she'll get upset because she'll never have that with _him_.

She and Jasper still haven't discussed what happened in Paris. They avoid things like that like the plague because he can't bring himself to break his wife's heart. Eleanor knows it, too because he can't seem to let _her_ go either.

Their time together is limited, and neither want to spend it fighting over what could have been. This is their reality. This is their _someday_.

* * *

Jasper FaceTimes her two times a week on his lunch, from his car, for thirty minutes. Lindsay has a yoga class on Thursday nights, and Eleanor stays up until three in the morning just so they can talk.

Lindsay loves _him_ more than she loves herself, and he knows it. It's killing him because his heart's always been back in Great Britain with it's Princess.

He thought that this _want-_ this constant _need-_ for her would go away with time. It hasn't, and the stronghold she's got on him is tighter than ever.

Now, she's carrying his baby, and she can't say who the father is. And he has no idea.

Her name and persona will be dragged through the mud. No one's _ever_ had a baby out of wedlock in her family. Especially not with someone of foreign, common blood status. Not _once_ in the hundreds of years of the Henstridge Monarchy.

* * *

She pulls it together, and flies to Las Vegas. She's terrified to tell him, because she already knows what his reaction will be. What his answer will be.

Eleanor calls him at work when she's settled and alone in her suite.

"I'm in Vegas. Jasper, you need to come to the hotel. I'm staying at _The Four Seasons_ , Penthouse 3. It's an emergency," she says, her voice shaking.

"Are you okay?" he demands urgently. The tone in her voice sends him into a panic.

"No, I'm not," she admits, her voice breaking. "Jasper, I need _you_."

"I'm on my way, I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line goes dead.

Eleanor finally allows herself to cry for the first time since she found out ten days ago.

* * *

Forty five minutes later, Jasper finds her crumpled on the floor in the bedroom and falls to his knees beside her. His strong hands are on her body; pushing her hair away and prying her fingers from her tear stained face and puffy eyes.

"Eleanor, what's going on?" Jasper demands urgently, a slight edge of panic in his tone as he turns her over and sees her distraught expression. "What's happened?"

Her bottom lip trembles as she looks at him. His clear blue eyes are full of fear and concern. _For her._ Her heart sinks into her stomach.

"I'm pregnant, Jasper," she whispers, lowering her gaze.

Jasper suddenly drops his hands from her as if she's burned him with her words. She leans back against the footboard and eyes him cautiously as he falls back on his ankles, his hands are clenched on his thighs. His knuckles are white.

"You're sure?" he asks urgently. His blue eyes are bright and wide with disbelief; his expression wild.

"Almost three months," she confirms, her voice so soft he barely hears her. _"I thought I was stressed. I-"_

"I love _you_ , you know that?" he interrupts. "I love _you_ more than _anything_ , Eleanor."

"If you loved me, you'd leave her," Eleanor yells at him, suddenly finding her voice. "Do you know what this is going to be like for _me_? _Alone_? Because of _who_ I am? Because of _what_ I am?

"What are are you going to do, fly to London in secret, and go to appointments with me? Raise _our_ baby over FaceTime, twice a week? Visit us when it's convenient for _you_ because you're too chicken shit to leave her, because _you_ can't make up your fucking mind? You can't have both worlds, Jasper. It doesn't work that way. I won't let it it, not anymore. Not _now_."

His eyes close, and his breath hitches in his throat, because she's right about all of it. He can't do _this_ to her anymore. Not while the best parts of both of them are growing inside of her.

Eleanor gathers her emotions, and forces herself to calm down. Shouting at him isn't going to accomplish anything. "I'll pay for your lawyer- your visa renewals- all of it," Eleanor pleads. " _I need you. I need you to come back home."_

She's tearing him apart with her display of rare, raw desperation, and he's crumbling before her eyes. He's made such a drastic change from the man he was when he first came to her nearly four years ago.

If he says no, the goddamn King of England will _personally_ fly to America and kick his ass.

Jasper knows it.

Eleanor knows it.

Judging by the fact that she's come alone, he knows she hasn't told anyone yet.

He's going to be someone's father.

 _His_ baby will be royalty.

Third in line for the British crown, in fact. Right behind it's mother.

* * *

Eleanor sits in Starbucks nursing her herbal tea. Other patrons look at her sympathetically because it's obvious that she's been crying.

Lindsay Frost comes in shortly after two, and she doesn't see Eleanor at first. But then she does, and then they stare at each other.

She can tell that she's fighting between ignoring her, and confronting her. Lindsay Frost is a strong woman with a good head on her shoulders, and she doesn't care that Eleanor is a Princess.

Eleanor respects her for it. Lindsay shouldn't be forced to be civil to her just because of _what_ she is. She deserves to hate her _because_ of it.

Lindsay pays for her coffee, takes a deep breath, and towers over her at her small table.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she demands, taking in her disheveled appearance. Eleanor's wearing an old grey t-shirt that's not hers, and a pair of jeans that are a touch too tight around her midsection. She hadn't brushed her hair since she left home, and she's not wearing any make up.

"Drinking tea," she says dully, not looking up at her. Instead, her eyes are on the white gold ring and wedding band on her left hand.

"You came all the way here to drink tea and look like someone told you your dog died? _Bullshit_."

"I'm pregnant," Eleanor says finally. "Almost three months."

Lindsay sets her down her coffee and reluctantly sits in the seat across from her.

She's shaking. She's done the math in her head.

Because two and a half months ago, her husband was in Paris.

* * *

"I don't know what Jasper's told you about our past, and I don't want to know, because I'd like to keep it there," Eleanor says finally, her fingers picking aimlessly at her napkin. She doesn't look at Lindsay. She can't. " _No one_ has hurt _me_ as much as he has, and _nobody_ has hurt _him_ as much as I have, and it's taken me well over two years to accept it. _No one_ loves Jasper Frost like I do." Eleanor raises her eyes to Lindsay's then, challenging her. " _No one._ "

Lindsay swallows the lump that's forming in her throat; her brown eyes shine with tears that she doesn't want to fall. She doesn't want her to see that she's hurting from her words. Every fear from the dark corners of her mind are quickly becoming very real, very fast.

Her husband _was_ cheating on her.

Jasper swore up and down that he wasn't. _That he couldn't._ Jasper was a good husband. He made her feel wanted, he listened, and took part in their mutual interests without complaint, and constantly doted on her like she was the single most important thing in his life.

Regardless, Lindsay could tell that he had some sort of burden on his shoulders.

And then she found out that that burden had a name: _Eleanor_.

He never wanted to discuss it. To discuss _her_.

Now, she knows.

Eleanor isn't just some girl from his past that he's gotten pregnant. Regardless of what happens, she's not going to go away. Even if she leaves for good and never contacts them again, that baby is going to be photographed and on display for it's whole life.

A constant reminder of what happened.

And it's the worst of her fears come true.

* * *

Eleanor feels awful for what she's doing, but she needs her to _know_.

"Jasper asked me to meet him in Paris, and I did, and I asked him to leave you. And he told me that he couldn't, because you're the one who put him back together after _I_ destroyed him. He couldn't give it up. A while later, my twin calls in the middle of the night and says that his wife is in labour, and he's panicking. That he needs me to come home. Jasper flew to London with me so easily I didn't even fully register he was even there until it was too late to tell him not to come.

"My brother paced the corridor all night, and Jasper was right there with us, _like he belonged._ No one said anything otherwise. Once it was over, he left us to come home to you. Your husband was one of the first people to hold the future King of England. He said it was the first baby he's ever held."

Lindsay takes a drink, but says nothing. She doesn't like the way Eleanor talks with her well-articulated English accent. She certainly doesn't like the way her husband's name sounds coming out of her mouth. She cringes on the inside every time the Princess says ' _Jaspah_ '.

She doesn't like that her name is _Eleanor_ , either. Nobody she knows has an old-timey name like that. Then again, Eleanor is a real Princess and her father was a King, so _her_ name probably holds some sort of great meaning.

She also doesn't like how she refers to her brother like he's just a _brother_. Her brother is the fucking King of England. His wife is the Queen. These are not just regular people.

Princesses aren't called Lindsay.

Before she found out who she was, Lindsay didn't care about the British Monarchy. Jasper hadn't mentioned working for them while he was on a work contract in England. He definitely did not mention that he had an intimate relationship with it's Princess.

So, she Googled _'Princess Eleanor 2014'_. She was wild, mouthy, drunk, and controversial. _Her_ vagina had been on the cover of the tabloids.

But then she finds out her older brother died tragically in a military accident. A rumoured suicide.

That her father was brutally murdered, and nobody knew who did it.

It was publicly known that she didn't get on well with her mother.

Lindsay felt bad for her, briefly.

Until she saw the pictures of her husband's arms around her, leading her from a stadium filled with an angry mob, a look of sheer determination on his face. Like Eleanor's the most important thing on the planet.

Or the ones of the Princess in a pretty purple dress at a garden party, with her husband in the background looking at her with an expression of undiluted longing.

Jasper doesn't look at her that way.

He never has.

* * *

Eleanor folds her hands on her lap, and her gaze fixes on her chipped nail varnish before she continues. "It occurs to me that I am a terrible person. I've done many things that I'm not proud of. The worst thing that I've _ever_ done is tell the one person who has _ever_ really loved me to get out of my life. Because it hurt too much to see him. All he wanted was to prove his loyalty, and that he had genuinely changed for me, and my family. And I told Jasper to leave and not come back because I felt like I wasn't good enough for him. _That I wasn't worthy of that kind of love_.

"We've never stated publicly, but Jasper is the one who uncovered the truth behind my father's murder. Liam asked him for help in his quest for justice, but he did it for _me_ , because he wanted to make it right. He wanted _me_ to have closure. He wanted _me_ to give him another chance. And still, I told him to leave.

"And he listened. He left, just like I asked him to. There was no heartfelt goodbye, or begging to stay. He left, and that was that. He came back here, and I'm not sure what condition he was in, because they all knew not to discuss him in my presence. I had my family. He had no one, until he met you. I don't know what you've done, or how you've done it, but I need to thank you for not letting him fall into a stupor or going back to his old life. I know that Liam pulled some strings to make sure that he had a good position waiting for him for when he returned, with the intention of keeping him here. Away from _me_. Just like _I_ wanted.

"If he were with me, he wouldn't be able to do any of the things he can do now, because of who I am. Of whom my twin is. Had I been born four minutes earlier, I would be _Queen_."

Eleanor rises to her feet and stares down at Lindsay, sadness and pain swimming in her eyes. "I've never had to beg for anything in my life, Lindsay. I'm a goddamn Princess. I came here to tell him that I'm pregnant. And I begged him with everything I have to come back to England with me. He said he's not going to leave you, so I told him that we're finished. He is not to contact me, or any member of my household, ever again."

She picks up her purse, and swings it across her body and walks back to her hotel, and calls her detail to ready the jet because she wants to go home.

She's lost her battle.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thanks so much for all your reviews. I _love_ reading your speculations about how this is going to end- and no one has hit the nail on the head yet, so let your imaginations run with that, if you want ;).

This is a two for one special! I'm bored as fuck at my mum's house and I spent way too much money at Sephora today, so I'm licking my wounds on the internet tonight. So if you haven't read chapter 7 yet- back up and do so, right now!

Shortest chapter yet- not sorry though because I love twisting your knickers. Happy reading fam! See you on the other side!

* * *

It's been three months since she's left Las Vegas, and it's obvious that she's pregnant. The media and royal watchers are running wild, gleaning through every boyfriend and male friend she's ever had with a fine-toothed comb trying to figure out who the father of her baby is.

They don't know about Jasper, so they don't bring him up in their list.

In typical Henstridge family fashion, the palace refuses to confirm or deny anything, other that the Princess is expecting her first child.

If Liam weren't a King with necessary royal obligations, he would have been on the jet to punch Jasper Frost in his bloody American face for impregnating his twin sister, and abandoning her.

It's because he's the King, he sends James Hill to do it for him. Liam knows that if anyone outside their family sees Eleanor as one of their own, it's Agent Hill.

He returns from a 72 hour stint from across the pond with few words, but tells the young monarch that his message was received loud and clear.

* * *

Pregnancy suits her. She's managed to put on some weight for the first time in several years, and her skin is in the best condition it's ever been in. The magazines always talk about her excellent style, and speculate about the gender of her baby. And it's mysterious father.

Only she knows if it's a boy or a girl, but refuses to tell anyone because she thinks it's none of their business, and she hates being the centre of attention. Especially now, when all she wants to do is spend her days roaming around the palace and its vast grounds like a lost soul. She's getting bigger, and she's getting more conscious because she knows that eventually it's going to weigh heavily on her slender frame.

Eleanor reluctantly lets Jasper know about her appointments, and sends him pictures of the sonograms because he wants to know.

She's not going to deny him that because she's not heartless.

He tries to talk to her, but she doesn't answer. She ignores him if he asks her any non-baby related questions.

If he wants to know how she's doing, he can goddamn Google her and see it on her face in any recent photo.

Eleanor asks James if they're still married. He tells her with a sad expression that _they_ are.

Sarah draws her a picture because she's into art now, and Eleanor keeps it in her bedroom, pinned to her mirror. She can't ride horses anymore, given her condition, but she still visits with the young girl every Wednesday.

Sarah suggests outrageous names for her baby. Shakespearean names, to be exact.

Both boy and girl, because Eleanor won't tell.

Sarah favours Valentine, Luciana, and Hermione for a girl. For a boy, she picks Duncan, Henry, and Sebastian.

She thinks it's only right because Helena called her Eleanor because of Eleanor of Aquitaine from _King John_.

It's the only time she laughs.

* * *

Liam disappears for a few days, and no one will tell her where he's gone.

Deep down, she knows damn well where he's jetted off to in the middle of the night, and she doesn't want to get her hopes up.

She can't.

He comes back, alone, and he's irritable for days on end.

He won't talk to her. She won't talk to him. Because they both know.

Helena offers to go.

Eleanor's hormones are bad that day, and so she asks _why_ , and demands to know when the last time her mother had a proper shag was.

If she weren't pregnant, Helena would have slapped her daughter.

Eleanor apologises later that night for her outburst as she digs into a coconut cream pie with her mother in the deserted palace kitchen.

* * *

He's coming to London. Jasper says he lied to Lindsay about where in Europe he's going. Said he's told her that he was going on a business trip in Switzerland. Regardless, he's promised he's coming to see _her_. And only _her_.

Eleanor sends the plane and tells him to lie some more, and tell Lindsay he's flying commercial. If he wants to come there, she'll send the goddamn royal guard to send a clear message that she isn't taking his shit any longer.

She toys with the idea of taking his name off of the list again.

Because she can, and he deserves it.

It's because she's still a glutton for punishment that she doesn't.

* * *

She's sitting in one of the state rooms having afternoon tea with her mother when Helena abruptly stops talking about an upcoming charity luncheon she's planning, and her face pales and she looks alarmed.

Eleanor's neck cracks as she spins her head around to see what's got her knickers in such a twist.

 _He's_ standing there, staring at her.

He can't see her midsection from where he's standing, but she knows that's what his wandering eyes are looking for.

Eleanor sets down her teacup and rises to her feet, and turns around, her dark pin-straight hair hanging limply over her shoulders. Her bump is straining against her tight black top, a harsh contrast against her usual slim figure.

Jasper lurches forward, and sweeps her up in his arms and presses his lips all over her face and neck, not caring that her mother is in the room.

Eleanor hangs in his arms. She's unresponsive in his embrace for two reasons.

First, because she's shocked that he actually came to the palace, through the front doors. _Alone_.

And because _something_ is missing from his left hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** So I completely forgot I wrote a baby into Turning Point, and that's my bad. I was still working on this when I was working on that and it must have transferred over etc etc- no baby in Fallout, I promise. Loving all of your theories!

Kind of surprised at all of the shade getting thrown at Lindsay- I tried to write her as innocent as possible in all of this, but if that wasn't conveyed correctly- I'm sorry!

I haven't written Robert into this story. He just didn't fit into the storyline.

Also someone asked if I have a Tumblr and the answer is no- I've literally been trying to figure out how to use Tumblr since 2010, and have been failing miserably. Sorry!

* * *

Eleanor doesn't say anything, but she knows that _it's_ gone. She pulls herself free from his embrace, and pushes him out of the room and down the corridor towards her bedroom so they can talk in private. The last thing she wants is her mother, and about ten other staff members, give or take, listening in on what most likely is going to be an unpleasant conversation.

Normally he's the one doing the grabbing, the shoving, and the leading, but now it's her. Eleanor's never manhandled him outside the bedroom, and it feels strangely cathartic. She pushes him in her bedroom with a surprising amount of force, and he stumbles into one of the chairs as she carefully closes the doors, and rests her forehead against the cool wood.

"I've left Lindsay- she doesn't know yet, but I did. _I am_. I've done it. I packed up all my necessary shit and left on the jet. My suitcases are in the main entrance hall if you don't believe me," he rambles off passionately as soon as she turns to face him. His words are coming out quick and jumbled as if he's afraid that she'll tell him to shut the fuck up and get out at any moment. He sounds so desperate to the point where it doesn't sound the Jasper she knows at all. "I've fucked this up so bad, Eleanor. I don't know what I was thinking. It was killing me knowing that you're here, and that I was too scared to do anything about it. It's tearing me up that you won't talk to me. _It's fucking killing me, Len._

"You were right. I needed to make a choice. I can't have both. And I don't fucking want both. I want _you_. I'm not here just because of the baby. I'd be here, even if _he_ wasn't. _She's_ not you. _She_ never could replace you, and I was a dumb fuck to think otherwise.

" _Then_ fucking _Liam_ shows up at my goddamn condo in the middle of the night, and tells me exactly _how_ it's been these past few months and… _I'm shit_ , Eleanor. I know that I am. But I want _you_. I've always wanted _you_. I always will. _I love you_. I love you so goddamn much I'll do whatever I need to do to stay. With you. And our baby. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying whether you want me or not. I'll live in London, somewhere else, on my own, if that's what I have to do." He finishes breathlessly. She can tell that he's likely been working on that speech for the whole flight; hoping that whatever shit he spews at her, she'll eat it up and take him back.

Eleanor's expression is sympathetic, but it's guarded. Her hands fold protectively on her stomach as she takes a seat in one of the chairs by the coffee table, and carefully crosses her legs.

"It's a girl," she answers finally, lifting her eyes to meet his. "The baby. It's a girl. It's a _she_ , not a he."

His breath hitches in his throat as her words swirl around in his head.

He's speechless.

He's going to have a _goddamn_ _daughter_.

A _son_ is one thing. He just assumed it was a boy because he read somewhere once that men with huge shlongs are more likely to have sons than daughters. Something science-y about the sperm having a shorter distance to travel. Penis size aside, he is going to have a _goddamn daughter._

A _daughter_ is a whole other situation he isn't equipped for, because he damn well knows he's already fiercely protective and territorial of Eleanor.

An innocent, tiny little _girl_ that will probably look too much like her insanely gorgeous mother for her own good. And she's _his._

 _Never_ did he think he'd have a family of his own, let alone with Eleanor Henstridge. He hadn't intended on knocking her up, ever. He had originally planned on sleeping with her a few times, then steal her big, shiny diamond, and then retire in Panama before the age of thirty. Just like all the other high-rolling Vegas crooks.

And to prove to his father that he could accomplish more in a matter of years as opposed to the decades of Frost Senior.

Things change. He changed. And plans change, evidently.

Eleanor is a goddamn Princess. Princesses aren't supposed to have babies with nobody bodyguards. They _definitely_ aren't supposed to have them them with fucked up Las Vegas con artists.

* * *

She's lying on her back, naked, and he's lying on his side next to her, his eyes flickering between her stomach and her breasts, as if he can't decide which one he likes the most.

Jasper is a big fan of what pregnancy has done to her body thus far.

He held her as if she could break, because he's not used to her _feeling_ like this. Or _looking_ like this. It's been her reality for months, and she doesn't care as long as she doesn't get stretch marks.

Eleanor slathers her body in coconut oil every morning and night because she read somewhere once upon a time that it's good for the skin. It appears to be working.

"I love you," Jasper whispers to her stomach, his voice barely audible as his rough fingers trail aimlessly across her midsection. Eleanor wordlessly reaches up and takes his hand, and guides it across, pressing his fingers down in certain spots and she softly explains what part of the baby is where. He moves back up to her, brushes her hair out of her eyes, and frames her face in his hands. "And I love you," he breathes, his warm breath fanning over her face.

His breath smells of cigarettes and airplane cognac, and she briefly wonders when he took up smoking. She doesn't care, because she's been trying to quit herself before the baby comes. She probably smells something akin to an ashtray half the time anyway.

For the first time in months, she smiles.

All of the way.

* * *

Her Royal Highness, Princess Eleanor Henstridge, sends her family's best lawyer to Las Vegas, Nevada, with divorce papers containing the signature of Jasper Frost the next afternoon.

Jasper keeps his mouth shut because he knows it's something she needs to do. Eleanor's been the queen of sending strong, blunt messages for as long as he's known her. The last thing he wants is to ignite an argument because he knows that Lindsay really doesn't deserve to have Eleanor's expensive and stone-faced lawyer serve her with his divorce papers, but there's no point in arguing with her. She's still salty with him, and he's grateful that she's even speaking to him, let alone letting him stay in the palace.

Lindsay Frost- _soon again to be Rhodes_ \- has no leg to stand on when the British Monarchy comes knocking on her door to serve her with divorce papers. The envelope has been sealed with the official wax seal of the Henstridge family. The harsh red 'H' is daunting. She knows there's only one person who would seal an envelope in such a way.

She's known in the back of her mind this whole time that Jasper just didn't go to Europe on a business trip.

After Eleanor left her alone in the coffee shop, she Googled to see if there were any merit to her claims. _Just in case_. There were a few dark images and a video of her arriving at a London hospital in the middle of the night, with her face barely visible behind a black hooded sweatshirt that doesn't belong to her. She knows it's not _hers_ because she's worn it herself on several occasions.

The Princess was driven by someone who was clearly her bodyguard, and then someone else gets out of the car. His face is shadowed, but the his stature and profile are painstakingly familiar. He holds her close to his own body as he briskly escorts her inside.

* * *

Three weeks later after _her_ departure, Jasper comes home, late at night, in the back of an unmarked black Mercedes Benz sporting a fresh black eye and bloody lip. He lies and says that he ran into something while on the job, but she _knows_ that he's been punched by the salt and pepper haired man in the car.

She recognises him as Eleanor's bodyguard from the pictures she's found on the Internet _,_ but she doesn't tell him that.

Lindsay's known that her marriage was over ever since the King of England turned up at her condo in the middle of the night, and shouted at her husband for two hours for getting his sister pregnant, and then abandoning her. And then he spent another two hours telling Jasper how depressed _Lenny's_ been over the past several months, and that he needs to fix it. _Now._

Lindsay never left the bedroom to meet the King, but she heard every word of their exchange.

She pretended to be asleep when Jasper finally came back to bed in the early hours of the morning.

The next day, he acted like the whole thing never happened.

But she knew.

* * *

They come back signed two days later.

Eleanor steps out in public with Jasper at her side one week later, a bright, shining smile on her face for the first time in _years_.

The tabloids are in an uproar as everyone struggles to confirm the identity of the drop dead gorgeous man on Princess Eleanor's arm.

The palace confirms through traditional mediums that he is her former bodyguard from America and the father of her baby, and that there are no immediate plans to them marry.

 _D-Throned_ is the one who finds out that he has left his wife for her, and gotten her pregnant while still married to his wife back in Las Vegas. They had dug into her past, and found several pictures of them together while he was her bodyguard, and painted them as star-crossed lovers in the media.

Eleanor doesn't tell Jasper, but she sends two members of Palace security to Vegas to keep an eye on Lindsay, and to keep the reporters at bay.

She doesn't complain, because for the first time in nearly four years, she's genuinely happy.

Jasper keeps his mouth shut, because she's hormonal and could turn on him at the drop of a hat.

Besides, he's wanted her, too.

They've never had the most conventional of relationships, anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: As always, thank you for reading/reviewing! I know a lot of you had mixed feelings about the last chapter, and that's okay. I don't want you to agree with me all the time- because where's the fun in that? I don't want Jasper to be perfect, and I certainly don't want Eleanor to be either- because the original characters aren't perfect, and if we're going to be real about it, nothing good ever comes easy for Mark Schwahn's creations?

Happy 1 year of The Royals!

I think there's two chapters left, including the epilogue!

* * *

" _Jasper,_ " Eleanor calls hoarsely. She's nine months pregnant, though it feels like ninety. It's shortly after midnight, and her goddamn water just broke while she was in the loo. She stands in a blue silken nightgown that rests mid thigh, braced against the bathroom wall, a puddle of murky water at her feet.

He's out of bed in a flash, and stands in the en suite bathroom entry way as she rests against the wall with her forehead against her forearm, moaning softly with each breath she takes as her other hand clutches her stomach. It's looked different for the past few days because the baby's finally dropped.

Jasper jumps into action and he puts his arm around her waist and helps her back into the bedroom. She sits on the edge of their bed as he picks up the phone off of the nightstand, and rings palace security to get a _car right_ _now_ because Eleanor's gone into labour.

A blood-curdling scream leaves her mouth as the first wave of contractions hit her. Her insides feel like they're being ripped apart, and she's not prepared for it.

Sweat forms on his brow as he tries to keep from losing his shit at the sight of her.

"The car's coming. You need to get dressed," he says carefully.

"I am _not_ getting dressed," she says through clenched teeth. "Get my fucking long black coat-"

He's in her closet before the words are out of her mouth, and back out a second later with her black trench. He helps her into it as two members of palace security burst into her room with a wheelchair. Jasper thanks them for her because she's suddenly become incapable of saying anything that isn't a swear word.

* * *

Eleanor has a high tolerance for the epidural, and it's not doing what it's supposed to. Her expression is torn between pain and fear as Doctor Cohen instructs her to push.

Jasper is beside her, brushing her hair out of her face, telling her how much he loves her, and that she's doing great.

There's a goddamn human coming out of her vagina.

She doesn't feel the least bit great.

He pulls away from her side momentarily, and gazes down between her legs, and tries to keep the disgust off of his face as she screams and pushes.

"I can see her head, babe. Black hair, just like yours. You got this. _You're the toughest bitch I know."_

Doctor Cohen snorts and looks up briefly to see her reaction.

If she wasn't in so much goddamn pain, she probably would have slapped him. Multiple times.

"Stop looking _in_ my vagina, Jasper!" she hisses.

"Come on, Eleanor. Three more big pushes and she's out," Doctor Cohen pipes up as Jasper takes her hand once more, and wraps his other arm around her shoulders.

He tells her to push.

Something's ripping inside of her, but she does it anyway. The head of their daughter pops out of her and she falls back into her pillows, panting.

"One more, babe. Just one." Jasper whispers, pressing his lips to her sweaty forehead. She opens her eyes and finds his, and she's so goddamn frightened.

He licks his lips and nods, because he _knows_. "Come on Len," he encourages. She gives him a small nod, and braces herself against his arm with both hands once more, and pushes with everything she has, another harsh cry falling from her lips.

It feels like something's let go deep inside of her, and then there's a loud _squelch_ , and then the baby's finally out.

A new high pitched, strangled cry fills the room as she falls back crying; her chest heaving as her legs go limp from both pain and exhaustion.

Jasper's hands are on her face, rubbing small, soothing circles on her cheeks as she struggles to catch her breath.

He can't take his eyes off of her.

She can't take hers off of him.

The cord is cut, and the screaming, struggling baby is placed on her chest.

Her hands immediately fly up to touch _her_ daughter for the first time, and he stumbles backwards in shock.

 _She's_ covered in blood and goo and she smells weird, but she's _perfect_.

She has a full head of thick black hair, and she's pink. Eleanor touches her face, gently, desperately trying to get a better look at as she curls instinctively into her chest.

She has Jasper's thin nose.

He's in awe and can't believe that _they_ made something so tiny and perfect.

She cries and stretches against her mother, and _finally_ reveals a pair of brilliant blue eyes, identical to her father's.

Eleanor smiles tiredly and finally hands her off to Jasper, who's nervous as hell because he's only held a baby once before today- Prince Simon.

This time it's different, because this one's _his_.

* * *

They've allowed them to take her away to have her cleaned up and weighed and checked out.

Eleanor's exhausted, but she wants her baby back before she goes to sleep.

"Princess?" Doctor Cohen smiles softly as he walks back into the room, holding a tiny pink bundle in his arms. "She's in perfect condition. Have you picked out a name for the birth certificate?"

He wordlessly passes her her baby and she's asleep, her breath coming out in short, quick pants.

Eleanor looks to Jasper as he sits on the edge of her bed. She's too tired to even think straight, let alone name their daughter.

He can't stop staring at her, as if he can't believe that she's real. _And that she looks just like him._

"Joanna," he says finally.

They had discussed the name Joanna in passing, but were still undecided.

Eleanor looks down, and rolls the name around in her mouth. _Joanna_.

It suits her.

" _Princess_ Joanna Louise Victoria _Henstridge_ - _Frost,_ " she recites carefully as she holds her a little tighter against her chest.

Eleanor cared deeply for Liam.

She was possessive of Jasper, there was no doubt about that.

But this new _thing_ she felt for Joanna was different.

She was down right territorial.

"A beautiful name for our beautiful new Princess," he smiles. "I'll let you rest, Your Highness. Mr. Frost. Call your nurse if you need _anything_."

Eleanor waits until Doctor Cohen shuts the door, and then she carefully moves over in the bed so Jasper can get in with her and Joanna. He casts a wary eye to the door before scrambling in next to her. He lies on his side with one arm extended over her pillow, and lays his head next to hers as they both stare down at their sleeping daughter.

She's so exhausted. It's shortly after four in the morning. Liam, Willow, and her mother will likely be there at the crack of dawn because she left the palace screaming like a banshee and spooked them.

The last thing Eleanor sees before she passes out is Jasper's free hand come up and gently cup the back of his daughter's head, and then adjusts the soft pink hat she's wearing as she squirms in her swaddle, still fast asleep.

* * *

They're allowed to leave the next day, and Eleanor can't wait to get home because she fucking hates hospitals.

Her mother has a loose, dark blue dress sent over for her and a pair of flats, and her makeup kit.

Because God forbid she looks like she just birthed a human the previous morning.

They sent Jasper a pair of dark jeans and a white button down, black jumper, and loafers.

Joanna is dressed in a soft, white knit onesie and swaddled securely in the same soft pink and yellow blanket she herself was brought home in twenty-five years ago.

They'll go outside for pictures, and show off their new baby before getting her in the car seat and then they'll be off.

Jasper hands her Joanna as they walk toward the main entrance of the hospital. His handling of her is careful, delayed, and awkward because he's still learning.

Eleanor's thankful she's sleeping because the crowd is thunderous when they emerge out into a rare bout of sunlight.

Eleanor may not be Queen, and her daughter will never be either, but she's still the first-born Princess of the new era, and the public loves nothing more than a royal baby. Especially a Princess.

She smiles brightly, and Jasper has an identical, rare smile on his own face as they stare out over the sea of reporters and flash-bulbs.

He tenses beside her and her smile falters slightly when she sees what he does.

Lindsay is at the front of the crowd. In a sea of smiling faces, her crestfallen one stands out like a sore thumb. She's not sure why the other woman has come all this way to see them present their daughter to the world. The last thing Eleanor wants to do is drive another knife into her heart because of what she's done. Her fingers tighten on the baby as a result.

But she's there, staring at them.

Eleanor's ruined that girl's life.

She didn't want to.

But she did.

She didn't want to be a homewrecker.

But she was, and the whole world knew it.

Eleanor wonders if she should be feeling bad, because she's not. Maybe it's the painkillers, or maybe she's finally experiencing true euphoria because her baby is so goddamn beautiful and perfect.

She looks cautiously up at Jasper, and he looks down at her. And then he smiles, cups her face in his hands, and presses his lips to her forehead as she holds their baby closer to her heart.

The crowd goes wild. Joanna stirs in her arms. They need to go back inside.

Eleanor and Jasper know that the way things worked out wasn't the least bit fair to Lindsay. He cared for her, deeply, but not in the way she needs. The way she deserves. Lindsay's strong, beautiful, and young, and he knows her well enough to know that eventually, she'll be okay. Eleanor isn't one to broadcast her feelings in public. She doesn't want to flaunt what's happened, and neither does he.

So it's only right that she drives a wedge into a memory that's meant to be perfect for them.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sooo one more after this to wrap things up, and then the Epilogue! I updated this morning, too. So Round back a chapter if you haven't read that yet.

Also does anyone else watch Grantchester? Was pleasantly surprised to see Tom Austen in it. And in a terrible beard, lol.

* * *

Her hair resembles something like a greasy haystack, and she's got dried baby vomit down her front because Joanna refuses to let her mother put her down for more than two minutes.

Joanna could have _Mary fucking Poppins_ for a nanny, and she'd still only want Eleanor. So she only keeps one on staff part time for when she absolutely needs to attend something with Jasper. If one of them isn't home, chances are, the other usually is.

Joanna's cutting her first tooth, and she's got her mother's flair for dramatics, so of course she's not keeping anything down. She's got her top ruined by regurgitated avocado and breast milk.

Eleanor's been in the nursery trying to calm her daughter who's been crying all morning.

Jasper thinks it's the perfect opportunity to tell her he wants to marry her.

Princess Joanna, age six months, stops screaming for the first time in well over an hour as if she knows _exactly_ what the hell her father just asked her mother.

His divorce was finalised over a month ago.

He's wanted to make _her_ officially _his_ from the second he got off the phone with her family's lawyer.

Eleanor's jaw drops as he swaggers toward her, with that bloody smirk of his that looks almost _erotic_ painted on his lips _._ Jasper pulls out an antique ring with a large emerald cut diamond, surrounded by ornate detailing.

She's had her eye on it in the Crown Jewel collection for as long as she can remember.

She hikes the baby up higher on her shoulder, and Joanna turns to look at her father, blinks, and automatically reaches for him.

She's wordlessly passed from parent to parent and Jasper's staring at her with their baby in one arm and that damn engagement ring in the other.

Two identical pairs of crystal blue eyes stare at her expectantly.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Eleanor exclaims, her expression turning to disgust as she carefully peels off her puke-stained top and deposits it in a nearby hamper.

"Quite possibly. She _has_ been keeping us up lately," he says lightly, bouncing her in his arm for emphasis. Joanna giggles, and then sees the shiny object in his fingers and reaches for it, and pulls it free and to examine it herself.

Eleanor stands there in her bra, and sighs. "Of course I will," she says dryly. "Now let me go get a fresh top for Christ sakes."

* * *

There's a few grumblings from The House of Lords about her intentions to marry an American divorcee.

Eleanor reminds Liam in not so many kind words that she's no longer in direct succession to the throne. Even if she was, she'd still do whatever she damn well pleases.

Liam knows this, of course, and couldn't give less of a shit, but he still tells her because he likes to get a rise out of her.

She's already had a baby out of wedlock. She's sure that there are more pressing matters for Parliament to worry about than who the King's twin sister plans on marrying.

* * *

Joanna has everyone in the palace wrapped around her little finger, including her cousin Simon. Simon's a year older than she is, but he's protective of her in the way that a toddler can be of another toddler.

So when ten month old Joanna sees him running about the palace on unsteady legs, she's damn well determined to do it, too.

Joanna may have her father's sharp features and eyes, but she is _all_ Eleanor.

And it's giving Helena the biggest satisfaction because she knows that in fifteen years, give or take, Eleanor's going to get what she threw at her right back.

Jasper's on the floor with her and Eleanor's perched on the sofa. They've been trying to get her to walk the three foot distance from where she keeps pulling herself up on an ottoman to where Jasper's sitting.

Joanna will hold onto her mother and run, but god forbid she moves on her own. She's long and thin, just like Eleanor.

Every time she sees him with that baby, it does things to her. Her heart clenches, and she _almost_ considers the idea that maybe another isn't such a bad idea.

It's disgusting how good looking he is with Joanna in his arms. She knows it, and the damn tabloids know it too because they keep printing pictures of him shirtless with Joanna from their family vacation in the south of France over a month ago. They call him a _pauper_ _hottie_ because of his commoner blood status.

" _Len_!" He says urgently, breaking her out of whatever trance she was in.

Her eyes hone in on her daughter taking her first step toward her father, her small arms outstretched towards him in both fascination and fear.

His hands are outstretched right back to her. Eleanor grips the arm of the sofa, eyes wide.

If Joanna falls, there's going to be tears and all the progress they've made all afternoon with her will be shot.

" _Come on, Joanna_ ," Jasper breathes as she takes another hesitant step toward him.

She takes another.

And another.

And another.

And then she falls into his arms and she's giggling because he's laughing. He falls onto his back, and hoists Joanna up in the air and and she screams in delight, kicking her legs wildly.

His smile is wide with pride; Jasper's usually stoic and cocky expressions have faltered in the months since their daughter has been born.

"You did it, Joanna!" Eleanor exclaims, dropping onto her knees next to them and lifts her into her arms, smiling widely. "You're such a brave girl!"

* * *

They're in Las Vegas because Jasper's parents decided they want to know their granddaughter, all of a sudden.

Jasper's on edge because he knows they're lying and just want to extort money from them in exchange for their silence.

Eleanor is more than happy to whip out her chequebook and make the problem go away, but he's hesitant because he knows how they operate.

They left Joanna at home with her nanny. They don't plan on staying long.

Still, it's the longest Eleanor's been away from their daughter since she's been born and she misses her and she's nervous.

 _They_ walk into the hotel restaurant and try to greet them like they're the best of friends. Like Eleanor is their favourite soon to be daughter in law.

She's disgusted because she can see it's all an act.

They don't ask about Joanna.

Jasper cuts to the chase and tells them they need to leave them the hell alone, or he'll go to the FBI because he's going to have diplomatic immunity when he marries her.

They're back on the jet within two hours.

* * *

Eleanor unconsciously crosses her legs as she watches Jasper tie his tie in her vanity mirror. He's wearing a tailored two piece navy blue Burberry suit. And _goddamn_ does he look good in it.

Tonight's their official engagement party.

Eleanor knows few people the guest list, and he knows even less.

She knows it has to be done because they live in a monarchy and that's what they do.

They're not setting a date until Joanna can walk more than five feet without falling, because Eleanor wants her to be the flower girl. It's unusually long for a royal engagement, and Eleanor blames it on her _mudblood_ fiancé when her mother starts pushing for more detailed wedding plans. The truth is, she doesn't care. She's fine with how their life is.

He turns to face her, a small smile on his lips. He's adapted so well to her lifestyle. Jasper goes with her to scheduled events and he answers questions from reporters with practiced ease. He's well informed and talks politics with politicians like they're discussing the weather.

He's well liked because he offers a different perspective because he's not British.

He's an excellent father.

She knows he's determined to be, because his own was shit.

And because Joanna is _their_ daughter, he's protective to boot. If she thought he was annoying with her way back when, it's _nothing_ compared to how he is with Joanna.

It's sexy as hell when it's not her he's worrying about.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, lifting her champagne flute to his lips, and drains the glass.

"Just remembering how annoying you used to be," she says easily as she rises to her feet. She's wearing a long figure-hugging, sleeveless, champagne-coloured gown.

He thinks she looks like an angel, he won't voice it out loud because he knows she'll laugh. "You look beautiful," he offers instead, wrapping an arm around her slim waist from behind and pulls her in close. His fist bunches a handful of silk on her hip. "I can't wait to take _this_ off of you later."

Jasper's breath is hot against her ear, and she likes it. She turns her lips to his rough cheek and smiles. "I think you'll like what's _under_ it more."

He releases her, groaning.

He _knew_ he had seen a _La Perla_ bag in the closet, and can only imagine what scraps of fabric she's got on underneath that damn dress.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:**

What I wanted to convey- something starting off so incredibly dark and tragic, morphing slowly into something _good_ \- appears to have happened successfully based on your reviews. I didn't set out to make everyone happy with this story. I didn't want to. It was a risky move and I enjoyed watching you all get fired up with each new installment. It meant so much to me to open up my e-mail and see a mountain of reviews and I tired to read every one of them as much as I could.

Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to PM me directly and voice their opinions and air grievances and chat about The Royals!

A reoccurring question is wondering when the next story is going to be and to be honest I don't know. I'm kind of tapped out right now because I've basically pushed out 4 stories in 4 months. I'm going to let this fandom rest for a bit before I come back with something else. There are a number of amazing stories starting up out now that I'm in love with and I hope you are too.

This is more on the ' _m_ ' side- after the last 11 chapters I think we all need it, yeah?

I'll probably put the Epilogue up tomorrow to tie this up.

* * *

Eleanor doesn't disappoint.

Hours later, Jasper drags the zipper down her back and his breath hitches in his throat as a black lace bandeau is revealed to him in the moonlight.

Nothing gets him going more the sight of black lingerie against her pale skin. _Nothing_.

He keeps going, and the zipper stops in her lower back. He presses his lips to her bare neck, pushing her hair over her opposite shoulder as her dress falls into a silky puddle at her feet.

Jasper pulls back slightly and looks down.

" _Oh fuck_ ," he moans, taking in the matching cheek-hugging lace knickers that are moulded to her perfect, pert behind like a second skin.

He would have knocked her up ages ago had he known what lasting effects pregnancy would have had on her.

Eleanor's always been perfect in his eyes. Now, because she's still breastfeeding, she's got a fucking nice set of tits that definitely weren't there before.

She hit the gym for a few months after Joanna was born with him, begrudgingly. He made her do squats. He's quite certain he could bounce a quarter off of her ass, but she won't let him try.

Eleanor is all his.

He is all hers.

 _Finally_.

She spins in his arms and frames his face in her hands, her fingers lightly scratching at his whiskers. There's still faint traces of red lipstick on her mouth, but he doesn't care.

"You like?" She asks innocently.

"I'll like it even better when it's on the carpet," he growls, his hands sliding from her shoulders, down her back, to expertly cup her behind. He purposefully digs his fingers into her ass as he pushes her against him.

Eleanor can feel him harden through his soft cotton trousers, and she wants it. She needs _it_.

Wordlessly, she loosens his belt, undoes his button, and drags down his zipper. She reaches in and cups him through the soft material of his boxers, and squeezes gently.

The baby's with the nanny tonight.

There will be no interruptions.

He abruptly releases her, and takes a step back as she stumbles into the back of the sofa, and braces herself against it.

"Take off your bra, Eleanor." He commands, loosening his silk tie. Jasper pulls it free from his neck as she reaches behind herself and undoes the clasps holding it together.

It falls to the floor, and she looks up at him coquettishly as her hair falls over her bare shoulders.

He sheds his shirt and undershirt. His eyes don't leave hers. "Turn around, and take off your underwear. _Slowly_."

Jasper steps out of his trousers as she slowly turns. He watches her, his eyes lingering on her long, beautiful back. His gaze lowers as she bends over, hooks her fingers in the sides of her knickers. He grips the side of the chair next to him; it's taking everything he's got _not_ to take control of the situation and rip them off of her.

He's enjoying the show too much to make a move.

Eleanor slides them down her narrow thighs, and lets them free fall the rest of the way to the floor before she straightens up.

She doesn't turn around as he approaches her.

They're not going to make it to the bed.

He lowers his boxers, and his erection bounces free and he wastes no time pushing up against her behind and pressing his lips to her neck, and makes his way up to her ear.

"Do you want me to take you _right here_ , Len?" He says roughly in her ear as one arm snakes around her waist, holding her in place. "Right against your goddamn sofa?"

Eleanor's grip on the sofa tightens at his words.

She's already soaked just thinking about it.

" _Yes_."

"Good answer."

Wordlessly, he holds onto her waist with one arm, and bends slightly to lift her leg up on the edge of the sofa. He's so thankful that she's got long legs, but that's another tale for another time.

His fingers move at an agonisingly slow pace along her inner thigh, before he reaches her delicate folds and easily slides two fingers inside of her.

She's more than ready for him.

She always is.

Jasper grips her leg behind her knee, and slowly eases himself inside of her. He sets her leg down and bends slightly, watching as she grips the sofa in front of her. He wraps his free hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he can kiss her as he abruptly pulls out, and then slams back into her.

Her cry is muffled by his mouth as they share the same hot, ragged breath. Her hand flies up and tangles in his hair as she kisses him as he takes her over and over and over.

He lets her go, and she bends forward, and he goes impossibly deeper inside of her. He swats her behind, leaving a harsh red imprint of his hand on her pale flesh.

" _U_ _gh_ ," she moans, and he can feel her tightening around him. He smirks. Even now, after all of _it_ \- she still likes it rough. So does he.

Jasper reaches around her waist and presses his front flush against her back, his breath harsh against her neck as he reaches between her legs and touches her.

A harsh " _fuck Jasper_ ," falls from her lips as his hand moves expertly against her.

 _How in the hell can he be in so many places at once?_

" _Come for me, baby_ ," he says harshly in her ear as he pinches her clit. " _I wanna feel your pussy come all over me._ "

She's lost it at his words, and he's slamming into her so hard the sofa moves in front of her, scraping across the wooden floor. She comes hard, moaning loudly. There's no one else in her corridor, and she doesn't care if anyone hears her anyway.

His teeth sink into the delicate flesh of her shoulder as he holds her so tightly she's sure there's going to be marks in the morning. She can feel him pulsing inside of her as he groans into her neck. It's a harsh, primal, and masculine sound that she knows has always been reserved just for _her_.

Because she damn well knows that _no one_ has ever fucked him as good as she does.

Jasper doesn't let go very often, for a number of reasons that he's still working through. But when he does, she thinks it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

He stills against her, and presses his sweaty forehead to the back of her head as several harsh pants hit her neck as he tries to catch his breath.

Eleanor's body slacks as he pulls out of her. Her legs feel like jelly as she slowly turns around.

"Hey," he says softly, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches her slowly approach him. The smug bastard knows he did good.

"Hey yourself," she brushes a few stray hairs out of her face and steps into his embrace, and places her hands on his chest, and frowns slightly. "You're sweaty."

"So are you," he fires back, his fingers feeling along the damp skin in the small of her back. Her eyes flash up to his, but she doesn't reply. "Shower?" He deadpans.

Her eyes linger on his, her expression a mix of a scowl from his previous comment, and shameless adoration.

His eyes sparkle with dark mirth as he stares back at her with raised eyebrows, awaiting her answer. Eleanor presses her lips into a thin line, and then she nods.

* * *

Joanna's turning one in a matter of weeks and Eleanor's determined not to let her mother have a single say in any of it.

They've rowed several times, because Helena wants to show off her granddaughter, and Eleanor doesn't. It still resonates with her how many birthdays that she and Liam had that were ruined by her wanting to throw an unnecessary gala.

Joanna loves Peppa Pig, and Eleanor's determined to give her a goddamn Peppa Pig party if it's the last thing she does.

"She's not the bloody future queen, mother!" Eleanor screeches as she storms around the throne room like a hurricane. Helena looks slightly taken aback at her daughter's outburst. "I won't let you ruin this like you ruined it for Liam and I. _I won't_!"

There's a tour going through the palace, and the throne room is usually vacant for it, but Eleanor and Helena have been fighting all morning and that's where the two have ended up.

A group of tourists and their guide stand slack jawed as they watch the Princess go toe to toe with the Dowager Queen.

Eleanor sees them first, and she's seething. She storms off in the opposite direction, her boots clicking rhythmically off of the marble floor as she goes.

Two days later, Helena admits defeat, and Eleanor gets her way.


	13. Epilogue

Ahh I know I said I'd do it tomorrow, but what's the point when it's sitting here all written? Updated earlier, but never bumped up so round back a chapter if y'all haven't already. I'm always a PM away for a chat!

Again, thanks again for putting up with me. See you all soon! ;)

* * *

Eleanor's hired a party planner to help, but she's determined to do most of the decorating herself. She knows that Joanna will never remember the party, but the sentiment _needs_ to resonate. It has to.

She wants her daughter to know that she _tried_.

So she sits exhausted, watching her daughter tumble around the garden with other children, acting like true _children_ , as several adults look on as if they're not quite sure what to make of the situation.

Her mother's torn between keeping her mouth shut like Eleanor has told her to do, and telling the children to act like the royalty and upper class citizens that they are.

"You're enjoying this too much," Jasper quips, pushing a plastic cup of punch into her hands. She sniffs it, hoping he's laced it for her.

He hasn't.

Eleanor shrugs and takes a drink, and then sputters. It's pure sugar.

"Willow's pregnant again," she comments quietly. "Liam will have his heir and spare. He doesn't know yet, she's going to tell him tonight."

His hand tenses on her shoulder because he knows what this means for her.

Eleanor's officially out of the direct succession line.

If Eleanor's out, then Joanna's definitely out.

She's _out_.

"We can move out, you know," Eleanor tilts her head back to look at him. "We have property elsewhere in the city we can live that's just as private as this is, if not more. Or the country."

"Maybe after the wedding," he says lightly, his eyes flicking briefly over to their daughter who's got Simon pinned on the grass. " _OI! JOANNA_!" he suddenly bellows across the lawn.

In the months that he's been back in England, Jasper's accent has gone all wonky again and he's picked up on far too many British euphemisms. Liam teases him about it mercifully. Eleanor finds it endearing.

Joanna shoots off Simon like someone's lit a fire under her, laughing as Simon's back on his feet, chasing after her.

"Mm, yes," she groans. "Alright, then. Six months. We're doing it."

Jasper pulls out his phone and scrolls through the calendar. "November," he says, "...20th? It's a Saturday, babe."

"Whatever," she waves her hand, indicating she's done with the conversation. He catches it in his, and slowly brings it up to his lips.

"Why are you so cranky today? I thought you'd be in a good mood," he murmurs, sitting down on the bench next to her. Eleanor lays her head on his chest and makes herself comfortable against him. He's still holding onto her hand.

"Well excuse me! I've been up since six, working on this," she snaps, gesturing to the party, "while _you_ decided to have a lie in with the baby."

"Not my fault she wanted to sleep with me," he fires back. "You're too bony to cuddle. I don't blame her."

"Fuck yourself, Jasper," she sighs.

"I love you, too," he says, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and presses his lips to the top of her head.

He's still far from perfect. He's still arrogant and slightly controlling.

She has none of it. Nobody can put Jasper Frost in his place, except for her.

She's still pretentious and mouthy, and he's the only one besides Liam with enough balls dish the clapback right back to her.

But it's their dynamic, and they love each other. They love their daughter, and are both dead-set on making sure she knows it.

There isn't much they don't agree on, but ensuring that their daughter doesn't have the same upbringing that they were both subjected to- on both ends of the spectrum- is something they put up a united front for.

They're finally genuinely happy.

And that's more than enough.


End file.
